The Scientist
by bumblewolf
Summary: "Even if you don't want friends, I will be there by your side every step of the way. I will help you with whatever you need and will be loyal to you. I will hold you, even if you push me away, and give you my shoulder to cry on, And I will love you until the end, even if you are the one to deliver it." Sherlock Holmes/OC one-shot series
1. Chapter 1

The Scientist

**Author's Note: Hello everyone! I recently started watching Sherlock on Netflix and fell in love with it. So, I am relatively new to the fandom, so please don't go super saiyan crazy on me if you absolutely hate the idea of a Sherlock/oc story. Reviews are always nice, just please don't go to the extreme in hurting my feelings, though you are entitled to your own opinion. Please read, review and enjoy! P.s, can anyone guess where this title is from? **

Prologue

He was… different from everyone else. I knew that much just by looking at him. Even before I formally met him, the brief encounter we did have, which was** very** brief, aroused questions in me. Questions to this day I still don't have answers to. Running into him was an accident really. Though now, it has occurred to me, that maybe, he wanted me to run into him. Like he planned for us to meet. I guess that's one of life's great mysteries. You never know who you'll meet, or how they will change your life.

I was running for my life. The dark and vast streets of London were mysteriously vacant; leading me to think that whoever was trying to kill me had purposefully made it that way. My worn sneakers smacked against the gravel pavement, echoing eerily around me. My breathing was heavy, almost to the point where I would pass out if I exerted myself anymore.

I stopped for a moment under a streetlamp, trying to catch my breath, and keep my quivering body from collapsing. I laughed, a quick huff, relieved and astonished to see that I had eluded a speeding car, with only my body's speed. Fear and adrenaline helped also.

I straightened up from my bent over position, and looked around, running my sweaty hands through my hair. I need a shower. I thought absentmindedly, wincing as I moved my legs forward. At least I escaped. I thought, a smug smile sliding on my face.

That's when the car rounded the corner.

The rubber tires screeched as they skidded around the block, burning rubber behind them. Headlights flashed on, blinding me instantly. I shielded my eyes quickly, then forced my legs to run once more.

After only two minutes, my legs were calling it quits. I started to slow down, even as I tried to force myself to go faster. In my desperation to get away, I made the mistake of turning. Right into an alley.

"Oh no. No no no no no!" I blew out, my heart hammering inside me like a jackhammer. I darted my head around to see if there was any way out, but to my horror, there was none. I turned to try and run back out the way I came, but stopped mid-stride. The car was blocking the exit.

It was sleek, and black, with darkly tinted windows, making it impossible for me to see into it. Not that it would have mattered. Being able to see my murderer wouldn't make death come any slower.

I slowly backed up, as the car inched forward, both of us seeming to move the same distance each time. Our deadly tango stopped, when my back hit the alley wall.

The car stopped abruptly, the headlights shutting off, bathing the alley in darkness.

I gasped, trying futilely to adjust my eyes. I could hear the car door open, and the clicking of shoes approach me. Only when the figures were two feet in front of me could I see the outline of them. There were three of them. All men, I could tell from the broad shoulders and seemingly bald heads. I couldn't make out any of their facial features, which frightened me more than if I could've seen their faces. One of the men stepped forward, causing me to whimper softly and press myself against the wall. Then he spoke.

"Where is it?" He asked, in a stern voice. I was confused, what is he talking about? I wondered.

"I'll ask you again. Where is it?" He asked, more forcefully this time.

"W-What are you talking about?" I stammered.

"Don't play dumb with me. I know you know where it is." He growled.

"It?" I whispered, gulping nervously.

"THE CODE!" He roared, making me cry out and cover my ears. "The code that you stole from me. I want it back. Now." The man threatened, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out an object. I didn't know what that object was until I heard a click. I started hyperventilating. The man took a step toward me.

"Tell me where it is, or I'll blow your pretty brains out." He said sweetly, pointing the gun at me.

"Please. I don't know what you're talking abo-"

"One." I was cut off when the man began counting. And I knew what would happen when he got to three.

"Two." He continued, stepping closer, aiming the gun.

I shut my eyes as the man opened his mouth to seal my fate.

"Moriarity!" A voice shouted. To me, that voice was the voice of an angel. I opened my eyes to see the outline of yet another man, standing in the entrance of the alley.

"Ah, look who has arrived to save the day." The man with the gun said, turning to face the other man. The man in the entrance began walking toward us, filling me with the hope that he would somehow save me. 

My hope was quickly dissipated however, when the man with the gun roughly grabbed my hair and pulled me to stand in front of him.

"Not another step or this will be another skull to put on your mantle." The man chuckled, pressing the gun to my head.

"Moriarity, what do you want from her?" the other man asked, stopping upon the threat.

"That's for me to know and for you to.. find out." My captor said, pressing the gun deeper into my cranium. I whimpered at the uncomfortable sensation.

The other man began walking towards us again.

"Ah ah ah. You wouldn't want this poor girl's brains spattered all over the building now would you? Be a hell of a mess to clean up. Or maybe you would like that? I heard you got off on that sort of thing. No... You wouldn't would you? You have so many questions. Theories running through your head right now about my connection to this girl. What does he want from her? What does she have that my archenemy could want? I can read you like a book. This chapter should be very interesting. Let's start from, once upon a time…" My captor slowly pressed his finger down on the trigger.

In a flash, the other man tackled me and my captor both to the ground, evidently freeing me. I scrambled up and watched in shock and awe, how quickly and gracefully the man moved, the swishing of his coat, reaching my eyes through the inky dark.

In the end, my captor swung and landed a blow to the other man's head, effectively stunning him for a moment. It was all my captor needed. In the time that the man had been struck, my captor and the two other men had jumped into their car and sped away.

"Damn." The man cursed, spitting at the car as it left the alleyway. I feverently tried to see him through the darkness, but to no avail. I shakily stepped closer to the man, to thank him for saving me.

But before I could, he roughly grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the alley and pushed me up against the wall adjacent to it.

I could see him clearly now. And what a sight he was. I gasped as I took in the beautiful man before me.

He was tall. Around six feet I'd say. Dark black hair, followed by a similarly dark pair of eyebrows, contrasted excellently with his light sky blue eyes. And to top it all off he had gorgeously carved cheekbones along with the most succulent pair of cupid's bow lips I'd ever seen.

His pale skin glowed under the streetlamps, leaving me speechless for a moment.

"What did Moriarity want from you?" He asked quietly, his voice sending shivers up my spine.

"Who?" I asked, staring into his hypnotizing eyes.

"The man in the alleyway." He said more forcefully this time, snapping me out of my stupor.

"I don't know. He kept going on about some sort of code." I explained, trying to keep the tremble out of my voice.

"Code? What kind of code? Why would he ask you about a code?" he asked intensely, putting his hands on either side of my head. I swallowed at the unexpected close proximity.

"He thought I had the code." I said, now frightened of this strange man before me.

"Do you?" The man queried his eyes boring into mine.

"N-No. I swear. I have no idea what is going on .One minute I'm walking home, and the next I'm being shot at and hunted down." I shook slightly, aware it had started to drizzle.

The man stared at me, long and hard, seemingly unfazed by the downfall of rain. Then, it seemed as if he came to a conclusion, for he slowly slid away from me, and backed up, turning to glance around him. "Where do you live?" He asked out of the blue.

I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off.

"No, don't tell me. I already know. 122 Kensington St, judging by the heavy brick residue on your shoes, and not to mention that bakery smell. It lingers, even after so many hours. I recognize it. Daniel's Bakery. Only bakery in all of London that uses special chemicals in their wheat to keep the scent fresh even if the bread is not. Also, right across the street from where you live. You go there almost everyday; the bread under your fingernails is evidence of that. You try to resist going there, you know the bread is stale, yet you go because the smell is inviting."

I gaped at him for a minute before recovering. "How did you-"

"I am a detective. This is what I do. Impressed? You should be." The man began walking away. I followed him, not sure where else to go. "I'll have John get your belongings tomorrow morning. You'll be staying with me until I crack this case." He stated simply, his hands folded behind his back.

"Are you insane? What makes you think I would just move in with a complete stranger?" I yelled, my anger rising.

He stopped then, making me stumble back in order to avoid running into him. He turned to stare at me, rooting me to the spot. I suddenly felt very foolish about my outburst, and very, idiotic.

"You find me intriguing. A mystery. Dark secretive stranger come to save you. You're curious. You want to know more about me, to sate that curiosity. You have questions, and I can answer them. Now, follow me. I must find a cab." After he said this, he turned once more and began walking away. I watched him, still rooted to the spot, before I called out to him.

"Who are you?" I yelled, cringing as a rain drop hit my eyelid. He stopped, and looked over his shoulder, a small smile on his face.

"Sherlock Holmes."

And thus, our descent into madness began.


	2. Chapter 2

Heartbreaker

**Author's Note: I want to remind everyone that since this is a one- shot series; I will be jumping around in Sherlock and my Oc's relationship, and will do two parters to one- shots if requested. I also will gladly accept suggestions for one- shots; in fact, I insist you guys give me ideas. P.S The title for each one-shot is a song, and I suggest listening to it while reading. If you want to know the artist of the song just read it at the bottom. Enjoy! **

He was late. Again. I checked my watch for the twentieth time that night and sighed dejectedly. Sherlock had asked me to dinner after a particularly stressful case, which had put a huge strain on our relationship. According to him, a proper dinner would do us both good. He promised that after solving this case, he would take a break and spend time with me. It wasn't the first time he had promised this.

I had agreed enthusiastically, ecstatic at the prospect of finally spending time with Sherlock. Though I should have known this dinner would end up like all the others.

I looked around the nearly empty restaurant, noticing how the only people left there were couples. I turned my attention to the stub of a candle on my table, when a painful twinge punctured my heart at the sight.

I sighed once more, blowing the air through my teeth. I laid my face on my hand and picked up the half empty wine glass beside me. My disappointed image stared back at me from the glass's reflective surface, showing me how pitiful I looked.

"Oh... Sherlock. What am I going to do with you?" I muttered, placing the wine glass back on the satin tablecloth. If that were any other night I wouldn't have been as angry and disappointed with him. But that night was special. It wasn't only the night for celebrating another solved case. It was the night to celebrate our anniversary. Not that he would remember. I thought, recalling the past times he had forgotten.

I tapped my fingers on the table for a moment before huffing in frustration. That's it. I thought. I roughly grabbed my purse and dug through it, before I found my phone. I turned it on, and brought up Sherlock's number, poising my fingers over my keyboard, preparing to text him.

I paused, unsure of what to write. How about, get your butt to dinner? My mind suggested. "No." I scoffed, shaking my head at the absurd idea. I think a simple 'where are you' will suffice. I concluded, typing just that. It wasn't long before I got a reply.

I unlocked my phone to read Sherlock's answer.

"Busy. Why?"-SH

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. I stared at his response, not wanting to believe that it was real. Not wanting to believe that he had actually forgotten our anniversary, once more.

"Of all the inconsiderate-", I started, but stopped, as tears began falling from my eyes onto my phone. I quickly put it away, and slowly stood up. I rubbed my eyes, trying to retain some of my dignity, and gazed down at the candle. It was almost at its end. Somehow to me, it symbolized a similar fate of me and Sherlock's relationship. I reached over the table, and extinguished the flame.

**Author's Note: Song; Heartbreaker by Taio Cruz**


	3. Chapter 3

Love The Way You Lie

**Author's Note: So, since no one suggested a one shot, I decided to write a follow up chapter for the previous one-shot. Maybe Sherlock will redeem himself. Thank you to everyone who reviewed and please R and R! Enjoy! **

I awoke to silence. Images of the previous night flashed through my head, causing me to bury my face in my pillow, to try and block out the memories. The echoes of our uplifted voices reverberated around my brain, giving me a brief headache. I winced and clenched the pillow tighter, willing my tears not to fall.

That's when something came in contact with my hand. I paused in my actions and fingered the object, pulling it out from under the pillow.

A smooth, creamy envelope addressed to me, greeted my eyes. I sat up immediately, my heart hammering at the familiar script.

I stared at the letter, contemplating on whether or not I should open it. In the end, my resolve crumbled, when the familiar scent of Sherlock's cologne wafted from the paper.

I carefully opened the letter, being delicate as to not tear it. The smell of him was stronger now, sending goosebumps along my arms. My eyes took in the words on the page greedily, relieved that Sherlock hadn't completely abandoned me.

"Meet me on the roof"-SH

I bit my lip, unsure if I should really go. The last time we spoke, hurtful things were said, but mostly by me. Give him a chance. I thought, rubbing the paper between my fingers. I sat there for a minute, before sighing deeply. I made up my mind.

I reached the roof twenty minutes later. I hesitantly opened the door leading to the roof, and peeked out. Empty. I stepped onto the roof and glanced around, my heart heavy. My throat started to close up and tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. Not again. I thought, wrapping my arms around my body. "How could you do this to me again?" I whispered, letting my tears fall freely.

"Do what?" I heard a voice say.

I swung my head around, in disbelief. There before me, dressed in a tux, was my boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes. He stood a distance away, with his hands tucked in his pockets. He advanced towards me, when he spoke again, not breaking eye contact.

"I don't recall doing anything like this before." He said in his rich baritone voice.

I stared at him, the tears still flowing down my cheeks. I turned my head away, ashamed of him seeing me like that. I could sense him getting closer until he stood right in front of me. A hand gently lifted my chin up to stare at him, revealing a tortured look in his eyes.

"Stop these tears." He commanded softly, brushing away the forming ones with his thumb. I blinked, the soft touch surprising me.

"Come with me." He ordered, gently grasping my hand, and pulling me forward. I had no choice but to follow. He led me to the other side of the roof, revealing a romantic setup. I gasped at the beautiful scene before me.

A table with a silk cloth stood at the center, surrounded by dozens of lit candles, filling the area with a golden glow. On the table stood a wine bottle, along with two empty glasses. Sherlock's violin leaned against the leg of the table, adding to the romantic effect.

Sherlock let go of my hand to twirl around, his arms outstretched.

"What do you think? Personally, I think it's a bit much and far too gaudy for my liking, but I know you fancy these sorts of things." He said, taking a seat at the table. He gestured to the seat opposite him. "Please sit. I prepared a special piece just for you." He said, motioning to his violin.

I couldn't. As perfect as that moment was, I couldn't. The pain from the previous night still hurt me, our heated words still haunting me. I hugged myself once more, and shifted my foot uncertainly.

Sherlock stared at me, before sighing. He stood and made his way over to me. He stopped to stand in front of me, forcing me to look up at him.

"I am truly sorry for the pain I've caused you. Please forgive me. I swear to you, it won't happen again." He whispered lowly, his pleading eyes, reflected by the setting sun.

I knew it was a lie. I couldn't even remember the number of times I'd heard him say these words on different occasions. But I did forgive him. I always did. So without a second thought, I threw my arms around his neck and pulled his lips down to meet mine, the two of us lost in a sea of passion.

**Author's Note: Song; Love The Way You Lie by Eminem ft. Rihanna**


	4. Chapter 4

Kiss Me

**Author's Note: Just a little cute fluff piece. Enjoy! **

My head lay on Sherlock's chest, listening to his light breathing and steady heartbeat. It was silent in the apartment, the only inhuman noise, the whirring fan beside us. Sherlock didn't usually sleep with the fan; I was the one who insisted on having the soothing sound of the inanimate object.

I glanced over at the clock on the nightstand and sighed softly, burying my face against his bare chest, and deeply inhaled his scent. He smelled, well… like Sherlock. The musky aroma of his cologne still clung to his skin, mixing with the subtle smell of aged parchment. It was a smell I had grown to love, and made Sherlock all the more unique to me, save for his other trademark abilities.

Today had been one of our good days. Or rather, a good day for Sherlock. He had solved over three cases and had been in an amiable mood because of the fact. And when he was happy, so was I. Sherlock had even made light conversation, something which surprised me and John. This was also the first time in a long time we had shared the same bed. He typically took the couch, or didn't sleep at all. I treasured whatever slivers of humanity he showed and made sure to take advantage of the rarity.

Sherlock stirred under me, snapping me out of my thoughts. He began mumbling incoherently, shifting more aggressively than before, leading me to think something was wrong. I picked my head up off his chest, and gently cradled his face with my hands.

"Sherlock?" I whispered quietly, trying to rouse him from the state he was in. He only groaned in response, as a troubled look crossed his features. His brows furrowed, his whole face clenching, in what I assumed was pain. "Sherlock, wake up." I tried once again to awaken the disturbed man, but to no avail. His hands clenched the bedsheet, knotting the fabric in his fists so tightly I thought he would rip them. I lightly shook Sherlock's shoulder, and glanced at the bedroom door, preparing to call out for John, who was stationed in the room next to ours.

All of a sudden, Sherlock shot up, causing me to jump back in fright. His blue eyes, now holding a wild look, flashed around the room, before settling on me. His chest rose and fell heavily, his breathing loud and labored. I stared at him for a second, contemplating on what to do. I had never seen Sherlock like this, so I was unsure how to respond. Luckily, and a bit astonishingly, he did it for me.

He grabbed my face and kissed me forcefully, his grip tight on my visage. I kissed him back hesitantly, wary of his strange behavior. Sherlock was an unpredictable man at times, so I didn't want to push him. I was usually the one to engage him in intimate affairs and was careful not to push my boundaries. I slowly raised my hands to weave through his hair, but Sherlock broke the kiss, and swiftly wrapped his arms around my midsection, gripping my waist tightly, his head falling to lie on my chest.

I could feel him shaking, so I did the only thing I could do for him. I comforted him. I placed my hands in his hair, and gently played with the curls, massaging his cranium. This technique was something I discovered that was a great way to calm Sherlock down. I gently rocked back and forth, whispering soothing words to him.

"Everything's going to be alright love. Just a bad dream." I cooed reassuringly. We stayed like that in quiet contentment, until I felt Sherlock's heartrate go back to normal. I stopped rocking him and gazed down at him in adoration.

"Oh, Sherlock, you'll never understand how much I love you." I whispered, pressing my lips to his hair.

My declaration, like always, fell to silent ears.

**Author's Note: Song; Kiss Me by Ed Sheeran**


	5. Chapter 5

A Thousand Years

**Author's Note: Thanks to those who reviewed and for those who wanted another chapter, this is for you! Enjoy! P.S you can also request songs/ideas for future one shots. **

"Hey Sherlock?" I called from the couch.

It took a minute for me to get a response from him, due to his inept concentration on the experiment he was conducting. "What is it?" He asked, not looking up from his work.

I bit my lip and turned to face him. "Can I ask you a question?" I asked, trying to make my voice strong. He made a noise that I took as an invitation to continue.

"If we lived to be a thousand years old, would you still love me?" I questioned hesitantly. I didn't expect him to answer so quickly, nor for what his response was.

"If it were humanly possible to live for a century, I have no doubt in my mind that we both would be miserable and would spend so much time trying to hold on to existence, that we would have no time or patience for such frivolous endeavors." Sherlock answered, still not looking at me.

I swallowed down my disappointment, though with Sherlock, I should have expected such a reaction. Though we'd been in a 'relationship', (or as close to a relationship someone could get with Sherlock), for months, he had shown very little to no affection towards me whatsoever. I had hoped establishing my feelings for him would get him to unlock deeply buried emotions that I knew he was capable of. So far, my investments weren't paying off.

I sighed and turned away from Sherlock, sinking into the leather material of the loveseat. I glanced up at the wall and frowned at the bullet riddled smiley face. It seemed to me that Sherlock always had to destroy anything that was happy. Including those he claimed he cared about.

"So I'll take that as a 'no' then." I mumbled, not realizing I had said it aloud.

Apparently I had done so, and I did so loud enough, that Sherlock had heard me. I realized this when a clang resounded in the kitchen, and the sound of a blowtorch ceased. I then heard shuffling, but did not turn at the noise. Something was then placed quietly on the table beside me. Though I was curious, I still did not move, afraid to face Sherlock. He was very unpredictable, and I didn't know what to expect from him at my whispered words.

It was silent after that to the point where I could hear the city buzzing outside. It was usually never this quiet or calm. It was… eerie to say the least. I was so used to the noise of mostly Sherlock, conducting experiments or playing his violin.

I shifted around and was met with an empty room. I glanced around for a moment, wondering where Sherlock could have gone. Though it was custom for him to leave the room abruptly, I still never got used to the emptiness I felt when he was no longer present. I sighed dejectedly and turned fully, placing my elbows on my knees. I leaned my face against my hands and yawned, not realizing how late it had gotten. What time is it? I wondered, as I sleepily ran my hands across my face.

I jumped in surprise when my eyes landed on an object atop the table, I was sure hadn't been there a moment ago. My eyebrows scrunched in confusion, as I tried to deduce what exactly the object was from faraway.

Getting no conclusion with this method, I stood and leaned over to grab the artifact.

I held the object in my hand and blinked, trying to let my eyes adjust to the dim light in the room.

It was beautifully crafted, shiny pieces of metal bent at ridiculously curved angles, to create a masterpiece, making me instantly realize who had made it. I smiled as I turned the object around in my hands, savoring the smooth texture of it. I closed my fist around it, marveling at how it fit in my hand perfectly.

Upon opening my hand, I discovered something else about the object.

In an elegant script, the words _toujours et a' jamais_ were engraved into the back of the object, the French language making me wonder what the English translation was. I bit my lip and looked around for my laptop, my curiosity getting the better of me.

In less than a minute I had typed in the words and had gotten the English translation.

I smiled when the readable phrase popped up on my screen.

_Forever and Ever. _

I smiled wider, warmth flooding my veins. Sometimes he does care. I mused, letting a happy tear slip from my eye.

A clock went off then, signaling the midnight hour. I stretched and clutched the object tight to my chest, a grin crossing my features.

"Happy Valentine's Day Sherlock." I whispered, looking once more at the crafted skull in my hands, which resembled the one on his mantle.

I sighed happily in realization that not only had Sherlock given me a Valentine's gift, but he had also answered my question.

**So... Sherlock gave her a skull. How… romantic? What should she get him? A smack upside the head? A kiss? Something else? Leave your suggestions in the review box!**


	6. Chapter 6

I Love The Way You Lie Part 2

**Author's Note****: Hello readers! I am finally back with a new chapter. I hope you guys like it, though I do have to thank**___**corinnedanielle**_** for inspiring me to keep writing for this story. Also, check out her stories Creation and Destruction... They are amazing! Without further ado, here's the chapter!**

I was floating on cloud nine. The frigid February air blew my hair, sending a shiver down my spine. I wrapped my scarf around my neck tighter and hurried back to the flat, pressing the wrapped package in my hand tighter to my chest.

I pushed past bystanders on the sidewalk, my breath coming out in light puffs in front of my face. I was in a rush to return home before anyone else, or more specifically, before Sherlock did. It was Valentine's Day, and I was eager to give him his gift. I had been out all morning looking for the perfect gift, and was relieved I had not run into Sherlock while I was searching. Though a part of me hoped I would, because I hadn't seen him since he left early that morning. Not since he gave me the skull.

I smiled, remembering the strange object of his affection and hoped that what I had purchased for him would suffice in expressing my love for him.

In record time, I reached the flat, the letters 221B shining with snow, beckoning me. _Home_. I sighed in relief, reaching into my pocket for the keys. I smiled wider as I held the keys in the palm of my hand, musing at the gloves surrounding my fingers. The thick leather material dwarfed my small hands, yet seemingly kept them warm. The gloves were a reminder, mostly to me, that Sherlock did care. It also gave me the comfort that even when Sherlock wasn't with me physically, a piece of him still accompanied me.

I stuck the key in the door and unlocked it, quickly entering and shutting the door behind me, to escape the chilly weather.

Warmth instantly enveloped me, causing goosebumps to rise along my arms. I left the door unlocked, lest either one of the boys, (Sherlock or John) had forgotten their keys. Though usually it was Sherlock.

I unwrapped my scarf, a present from Mrs. Hudson, and hung it on the hook next to Sherlock's. I didn't take into account that Sherlock's scarf hanging could signal he was home, since he had a lot of scarves. Also because, I was admiring how perfect our scarves seemed placed next to each other. I was a romantic, and saw this as a symbol of good prosperity in our relationship.

I wiped my snow covered boots on the entrance mat and shrugged out of my coat, careful not to drop Sherlock's gift. I peeked into the downstairs kitchen to say hello to Mrs. Hudson, but found to my surprise that she wasn't there. Odd. I thought, my eyebrows furrowing in confusion. But no matter. I shrugged, making my way upstairs. She probably just went out for a bit. After all, it is Valentine's Day. I smiled again at the fact. Today was a day dedicated to love and I wanted Sherlock to know how much he was loved. I had a feeling that before meeting me, he hadn't gotten much of it.

Hopefully it will be better than last year's. I thought, scowling at the memory.

Sherlock, of course, had forgotten the holiday and instead spent the day dissecting a corpse on the kitchen table. I wondered how he'd managed to convince Molly to give him one, but then made my own deduction that she hadn't. Needless to say, I was livid.

"But this year, things are going to be different." I whispered confidently, as I reached the top of the stairs. I pushed the door to me and Sherlock's room open, not at all surprised that it wasn't locked. After all, who would be idiotic enough to break into the apartment of Sherlock Holmes?

I slipped into the apartment and shut the door, laying my coat over the back of a dining room chair as I did so. I gently set down Sherlock's gift and placed his gloves next to it, before removing my winter boots. Then I lifted my head up and saw the rest of the apartment.

I gasped loudly at the sight before me.

Paper and trash littered the floor, as well as books and clothes. It looked as if a tornado had swept throughout the room. I noticed that upon closer inspection of the wall, fresh bullet holes could be seen.

I swallowed nervously as I glanced around the disaster area, worry filling me. Where is Sherlock? I wondered, afraid something horrible had befallen him. I glanced down at the floor so as to not step on anything dangerous, when my eyes landed on an object. It was Sherlock's computer. My heart raced at the sight of the mangled and broken electronic.

Beside his computer a picture of us lay torn. I carefully picked up the damaged photo and lightly stroked it, a slight smile making its way onto my face.

"He actually looks hap-"

I was cut off by a loud thump in the next room. Me and Sherlock's room. I snapped my mouth shut and quickly pocketed the picture of us, my mouth going dry. What should I do?! I thought in a panic.

I didn't have time to respond however, because a tall figure swept into the room.

I jumped back defensively until I realized who the figure was.

"Sherlock." I slumped in relief.

He didn't respond. Like he hadn't heard me.

I tried again.

"Sherlock?" I asked hesitantly moving over to where he was standing by the window. I glanced at him, noticing his clenched fist and disheveled hair, and moved to touch his shoulder when he moved abruptly.

I followed his movements warily, not knowing what to do. He had never acted in that manner before.

All of a sudden, Sherlock growled in frustration and kicked a book across the room, before tugging harshly on his hair. I jumped, suddenly afraid of the man before me.

"It's wrong. All wrong." He spat, his back still to me. I stared at him in confusion, wringing my hands and biting my lip, not sure what to say.

"Nothing adds up." He continued, pacing around the room.

"Sherl-"

"Shut up. I can't focus with your incessant prattling." He cut off rudely, still turned away from me.

I gaped at him in shock. Who was this man? He looked like Sherlock, but his behavior was that of a stranger. And it terrified me. And when I was scared I sometimes did stupid things. This was one of those times.

"What's wrong Sherlock? Why are you acting like this? How can I hel-"

"You can help, by leaving. Your presence is infuriating, and every second you stand there adds to my level of annoyance and decreases my patience." He said this as he swiveled un expectantly and was looming over me. I could see his eyes then and finally understood what was wrong.

"You've been using." I stated, swallowing to clear my dry throat. Sherlock sneered, stepping closer, until our noses were practically touching.

"Does that frighten you? Disgust you even? I expected it of someone like you."

"Someone like me?"

"A woman. Always so judgmental, wanting to change everything about a person, yet wanting them to stay the same. A bit bipolar if you ask me." Sherlock said, a wild look in his eye.

I turned my head away, not wanting to look him in the face. Partly from fear, and partly because he was right.

"Though you would never admit to the fact, would you? You try to hide your flaws while pointing out mine. And you claim it is all in the name of_ love. _Your affection is nothing more than abuse disguised in the form of soft words and gifts."

I scrunched my eyes, tears forming in them.

"Your tears won't faze me. I have no capacity to feel sympathy for you, or your fragile emotions. Now, if you don't feel the need to hear me insult you further, I would advise you to leave." He said lowly.

I opened my mouth to respond but he wasn't finished.

"I don't need nor want you here. Just seeing you reminds me how much of a nuisance you are, and how big of a hindrance. Go be distracting somewhere else."

The slap resonated around the flat.

My hand stung from the sharp contact, but I was too angry and devastated to care. I glared at Sherlock, my tears flowing freely now. He had his hand to his cheek, which had reddened, and was looking at me in disbelief.

"How dare you! I've done nothing but love and support you through all your antics and misfortunes! Even through all the insults and bullying, and long nights of crying myself to sleep, I still stick by you! All you do is push me away….." I yelled, my chest heaving.

The room was tomb silent. My heavy breathing could be heard as well as the buzzing city outside, but nothing else stirred. We stared at each other, neither of us moving or speaking, until Sherlock turned towards his chair tersely and swiped his coat, pulling it on in a flash.

I could only watch, as he swept out of the room without a word, his long coat trailing behind him. Once I heard the front door slam shut, I broke down.

My knees buckled from under me and I laid my head in my hands. I let out a strangled sob, my tears streaming down my cheeks, before staining my hands. You hit him. My mind chastised. You actually _hit_ him. I shook my head, not wanting to believe it myself.

The squeal of tires brought me out of my thoughts. My head snapped up and without thinking, I rushed out of the apartment, my feet taking control of my body. Scenarios flashed through my mind, though one horrifying notion stuck the most.

Please no. Anything but that. I pleaded, making my way on the street.

A group of bystanders were crowded on the pavement, surrounding something. My heart skipped a beat at the thought that it could be what I feared. Shakily, I pushed my way through the crowd, praying that my assumptions were wrong.

My eyes found the coat first. Then the hair. I didn't dare to look at his face. Blood covered the pavement, turning the white snow a grisly red. I covered my mouth with my hands, dropping on my knees next to his body.

"Please. Don't do this to me. Leave me if you must, but not like this." I cried, cupping his face delicately. I found the courage to raise my eyes to his, hoping to find a glimmer of life in them. They only stared up at the sky vacantly.

"Sherlock, please, don't be dead. I love you." I sobbed, laying my head on his chest. Arms lifted me up then, which I fought, until I realized who it was.

I cried on John's shoulder as they wheeled the body into the ambulance, unable to control myself. I gripped his jacket tightly, like a life preserver, knowing it was the only thing that could keep me afloat.


	7. Chapter 7

My Immortal

Sherlock was declared dead the next day at 12:15 pm. All attempts to revive him were proven futile and soon, the doctors and nurses gave up trying. John gave me the news, before leaving me with my thoughts, declaring that he didn't want me to feel crowded. Though I knew his real reason for doing so, was because he needed time alone to mourn himself.

It was silent in the flat. Too silent. The once warm and cozy space I had called home, felt empty without Sherlock's boisterous presence. Seemed darker too. The apartment expressed how I felt on the inside. Vacant. Desolate. Broken in so many ways, only being held together by the sheer memory of Sherlock.

I was numb. And it wasn't because of the raging icestorm outside the window. The place where my heart used to rest, was hollowed out, Sherlock taking the organ with him in his departure. I had told him he could have my heart, but I never imagined my words would come back to haunt me. Or be this painful.

I sat cross legged on the floor, my hands clenched around Sherlock's scarf. It was the last item of clothing he had been wearing, that hadn't been with him in his death. The coroners wouldn't allow me to have his coat.

I stared down at the still bright blue material, which reminded me of Sherlock's eyes. No matter how many times it had been abused or abandoned, it seemed to shine like a twinkling star in the sky. I compared Sherlock to the scarf in that regard as well. I knew he could be hurt and lashed out when he was afraid. Yet he always seemed to bounce back and regain that cheerful glint in his eye whenever a particular good case came up. I was so sure he would bounce back from the hit. This time, my certainty had failed me.

I sighed shakily, lightly stroking the scarf, almost as if I were touching him and not a piece of clothing. The memory of our argument flashed through my mind, causing me to grip the scarf tighter, and close my eyes forcefully.

"I'm so sorry Sherlock. Please, forgive me."

I cried, letting my tears hit the soft fabric in my hands, before hugging it tightly to my chest, wishing for the entire world that it was him I was holding.

**Author's Note****: Wow guys! I just have to give a huge virtual hug for all the feedback I got on the last chapter. I know this chapter is short and angsty, but bear with me, it will get better. I won't be staying on this gloomy train forever! Thank you all again for your wonderful reviews and for liking and following! Means the world to me! **

**Song; My Immortal by Evanescence**


	8. Chapter 8

Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again

Three Years Later…

I was standing in front of his gravestone.

It had become custom to me to visit him now and then, usually when I could no longer bear the silence surrounding me. Which was almost every day since his death. But today was different. It was the day I was going to say goodbye. For good.

The rain drizzled down in light sheets, the chilly weather creating frosted icicles on the grass. I had been standing there for ten minutes, my hair already plastered to my neck and face, but I didn't care. I was there for a reason and would not allow the weather to sway me in my mission. I had put off what needed to happen for too long already. I solemnly stared at the shiny granite, once again memorizing the gold scripted lettering of Sherlock's name. I used to smirk at the ridiculously flashy design of his headstone, if only to stop myself from breaking down. I wasn't laughing or joking now.

"I can't do this anymore." I whispered, taking a shaky breath. I felt parched, my throat having been abused for so long in my mourning. I was also tired, the long nights of crying preventing me from resting.

"I'm tired of crying over you." I continued, clenching my bare fist tightly. I had long ago given away Sherlock's gloves. Like most of his things, they left too many painful memories.

"It's time I let you go. It's best for the both of us." I trembled, placing my hands upon my neck. With shaky hands I unraveled the beautiful blue scarf that I had refused to part with for these three years. I held the accessory in my hands, willing myself not to cry. I had done enough of that already. I took a deep breath before finalizing our parting.

"Goodbye Sherlock." I choked, placing the last remnant of him on top of the grave. I turned then, not allowing myself to spare it another glance. The air shifted then, blowing unforgiving cold on my now bare, neck. I shivered, but only wrapped my coat around me tighter.

I was soaked by the time I reached the flat. I no longer referred to it as my home anymore. It felt more like an emotional prison to me.

I entered the flat and shut the door, before trudging up the creaky worn steps, my feet feeling heavier than ever before. I reached the top of the stairs and pushed open the barrier to my cell.

It was empty, save for a lone chair in the middle of the room. The piece of furniture was John's, though he let me keep the item, since I had removed everything else out of the flat. He had taken all of his stuff and had helped me move Sherlock's items into a storage unit. I didn't have the heart or courage to sell all of it.

Not bothering to shed any of my drenched clothing, I plopped down in the chair, looking around the apartment for the last time. I had already found a new place and had all my stuff transferred there. This was just my day for saying goodbye.

I closed my eyes and inhaled, taking in all the memories surrounding me.

A knock at the door brought me out of my daze.

I opened my eyes and slowly stood, stretching my worn body. How long was I out of it? I wondered, making my way to the door. John said he would be by later to bring the chair to my new place, but I never expected him to arrive so soon. I thought, swinging open the door.

Needless to say, it wasn't John at the door.

I froze, my eyes wide. My body turned cold, fear and astonishment flooding my veins. I believed I was seeing a ghost. An apparition that had come to haunt me from the grave. If I had been holding anything I would have dropped it. But since I wasn't, all I could do was gape.

He looked like he did the day of his death.

Dark clothing covered his body, along with his signature long coat. Dark blue eyes stared intensely at me, from under a fringe of black curly hair, searching. In his hands, his damp scarf was held out to me, a question hanging in the air.

I took one look at the scarf, and reality set in. I realized what he had done, and what he was trying to do now.

Before I could even think about my decision, my hand flew to Sherlock's cheek, making contact with his real, though cold, flesh. A second later, I found my arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down to my level. I pressed my face to his neck and choked out a sob before answering his unasked question.

"Of course I forgive you."

**Author's Note:**** And there you are folks, a happy ending! Though this is far from the end for these two. Thank you all for your lovely reviews and I hope this chapter was worth the wait! See you all next time! **

**Song; Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again, by Andrew Lloyd Webber**


	9. Chapter 9

Crazy

I awoke to the smell of burning rubber.

I launched out of bed on instinct and shot out of the bedroom, mentally preparing myself for the worst. Oh God, what's happened now? I wondered nervously, as I turned the corner.

I nearly laughed at the ridiculous scene before me.

A pot on the stove was engulfed in flames, while a frazzled looking Sherlock Holmes darted about the ransacked kitchen. The smell of burning was stronger here and I covered my mouth, resisting the urge to gag. I opened my mouth to ask what was going on, but before I could, someone else did. A not so amused, John Watson.

"Sherlock, what the_ hell_ is going on here?!" John yelled, seeing the detective immediately when he entered the apartment. His hands were carrying three full grocery bags, and he was wearing a bright red sweater Mrs. Hudson had sown for him as a gift for Christmas. Crushed leaves littered his graying hair, leading me to believe that he had fallen on his trip home. All in all, John Watson looked downright comical.

I snickered, trying to silence the sound with my hands, though I knew John had heard it. He snapped his head to me and huffed in annoyance, before stomping over to where I was. I coughed then tried to conceal the smile on my face. Needless to say, I was unsuccessful.

"Do you think this is funny?" John asked, giving me a stern look. I shook my head, but felt a tickle of a laugh climbing up my throat. Up close, I could see that John had dries bits of dirt in his hair along with the leaves, maximizing my temptation to laugh.

John growled in irritation, turning to look at Sherlock then back to me.

"No wonder you two like each other, you both act like children. And Sherlock, why must you always try to destroy the house when I'm away?" John huffed in exasperation, plopping the groceries onto the floor when he realized there was no room on the table.

"Don't worry John. I have everything under control." Sherlock said, dashing about the kitchen, searching for something. "It was just a little miscalculation. Ugh. How could I have been so stupid!?" Sherlock yelled, gripping his hair in frustration.

I erupted into laughter after seeing the gaping patch of singed hair on his head. Tears ran down my face and I held my side, as John and Sherlock stared at me like I had grown two heads. Which I bet, Sherlock would have liked. Sherlock rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath, no doubt, a deduction about my behavior. John turned back to the flaming stovetop and rushed over to extinguish the flame.

"Look at what you've done John. You've ruined the experiment." Sherlock whined, after John had doused the flame in water. John turned to Sherlock with a glare.

"Ruined the experiment? I just saved our lives, Mr. Pyromaniac." John growled, gritting his teeth. I continued with my laughter, the image of Sherlock's hair burned into my brain.

"And what were you burning for this so called 'experiment'?" John asked, glancing into the now blackened, pot. His eyes went wide and he glanced over at me with a strange expression. I stopped laughing long enough to choke out

"What?"

John looked at Sherlock, then back at the pot, before chuckling. He shook his head and clasped Sherlock on the shoulder.

"I'm letting you handle this one Sherlock." He snickered, making his way to the door.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, a glimmer of dare I say, fear in his eyes? The door clicked shut, leaving me and Sherlock alone. I had finally stopped my hysterics and stood straight up, now curious as to what John was looking at.

"Don't you have some idiotic female activities to be performing?" Sherlock asked, trying to block the oven from my view. That made me all the more curious, and a bit suspicious. I crossed my arms over my chest and fixed Sherlock with a stern look.

"Sherlock, move." I demanded, authority in my voice. Sherlock scoffed and didn't move an inch. I sighed deeply before clicking my tongue.

Sherlock, if you do not move I will flush your phone down the toilet." I threatened. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"I can purchase a new one." He retorted.

"But you won't. You hate change. It would drive you crazy." I smirked, seeing a glimmer of despair in Sherlock's eyes.

"Now move." I commanded, grinding my teeth. To my surprise, Sherlock listened to me, and glided to the side. I stepped forward and peered inside the kitchen utensil.

Once I realized what Sherlock had been hiding, I swiftly turned on my heel to face him.

"Sherlock!" I yelled, seeing the consulting detective dart into the living room. I stomped after him, leaving behind me, the pot in which he had tried to cook my favorite pair of boots.

**Author's Note: Song; Crazy, by Cee-Lo Green…. Also I hope you enjoyed!**


	10. Chapter 10

Perfect Two

It was early spring, and the New Year's brisk air flew in through the ajar window of the second story apartment. Warm light enveloped the room, encasing the flat in a cozy aura, despite the lack of boisterous company or conversation.

Sherlock lay resting in my lap, his long legs dangling over the edge of the loveseat, while his hands lay folded contentedly over his abdomen. His breathing was light and his posture relaxed, not a common position for the consulting detective. Which made this moment all the more unique and memorable to me.

I caressed Sherlock's face gently for a moment before running my hand through his curly locks. Sherlock's eyelids were closed, but he sighed in pleasure when I tenderly played with his soft hair, and began massaging his scalp.

Surprised that he'd allowed me to initiate such intimate contact, I stopped my movements, until I heard a whimper from the detective. I smiled and rolled my eyes, but continued the affectionate act.

Sherlock knew I loved his hair. In fact, it was one of my favorite features on him. He would often tease me with the fact, by ruffling his hair and pointedly looking at me with a look that said, 'You can look, but you can't touch'. I chuckled, remembering the expression on John's face at seeing the silent exchange between us.

"Care to share what's so humorous?" Sherlock mumbled, no doubt on the brink of sleep. I smiled at the sound of fatigue in his voice. Good. I thought. He needs the rest. Using my other hand, I played with his pajama collar, as I answered his query.

"Us." I said, looking down at Sherlock. I mentally traced every line and curve of his visage, not wanting to forget what he looked like up close. I never knew when moments like these would cease altogether.

"Elaborate." Sherlock stated, not bothering to make the word a question.

"Our relationship. It's odd. That's what makes it so funny." I explained, hoping I wouldn't offend the sensitive man. Often I would find that certain things or subjects set him off, and I didn't want what I said to be one of those things.

Sherlock chuckled, startling me yet again. Sherlock didn't laugh. It was as rare an occurrence as someone winning the lottery. Hearing that sound made me feel like I'd hit the jackpot in a casino. The noise from his throat was deep, no doubt perfectly aligned with his baritone voice. I shivered slightly, goosebumps rising on my arms at the alien, yet pleasant sound.

"I suppose our relationship is a bit strange. Then again I'm no ordinary man." Sherlock bragged, not denying the fact that we were indeed in a relationship, like he'd previously done.

"You're right about that." I mumbled, tracing the contours of his well-defined cheekbones.

"And you're no ordinary woman." Sherlock yawned, snuggling closer to me. I gazed at him in utter adoration, elated at the compliment, and prayed that this moment wasn't all a wistful dream.

If it is, I better make the most of it. I thought, leaning down over Sherlock. I softly kissed his Cupid's bow lips, savoring the sweetness of the feeling and was astonished when Sherlock kissed back. This exchange only lasted a couple seconds, but for me, it was enough to fill a lifetime. Sherlock never gave much, but what little he did give, I made sure to relish.

After our blissful peck, I leaned my head back and cuddled into the comfortable leather couch, slowly closing my eyes, enjoying the feeling of Sherlock's body next to mine.

It wasn't too long later that I was awoken by a flash and snickering. My eyes shot open and I leaned my head up, careful not to stir the resting detective.

I was greeted by none other than John Watson, holding a camera with a huge smirk on his face. I blinked at him for a moment, before glancing down at Sherlock to see if he knew what was going on. He was fast asleep. I looked back up at John and leaned slightly in his direction.

"When you get that printed, I want a copy." I whispered, just in case Sherlock was faking slumber. John winked and made his way to the door, only bursting into laughter once the barrier shut closed behind him.

**Author's Note****: Thank you all for the wonderful reviews, for following and for liking my story! It means so much to me! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and if there are any people or songs you would like to see in future chapters, please let me know. ****Song; Perfect Two, by Auburn**


	11. Chapter 11

Jealous

I laughed heartily, at the joke he had told me, the wine in my glass threatening to spill onto the crème tablecloth. I quickly placed the glass down, not wanting to ruin the beautiful scenery around me. Or ruin what I was wearing, for that matter. I wiped a stray tear from my eye, not remembering the last time I had enjoyed myself that much. I laced my fingers together and gazed fondly at the man across the table from me, musing at how much he had changed.

The man who sat before me, was not Sherlock Holmes. Though he was tall and dark haired, the man with me, bore no resemblance in behavior or style to the moody and brainy consulting detective.

"I still can't believe how much you've changed." I spoke my thoughts aloud, shaking my head in disbelief. He smiled, revealing pearly white teeth. I smirked, the irony of the condition of his teeth, crossing my mind.

"I have lost some weight. Even bulked up a bit." He admitted shyly, rubbing his arm through the thick sweater he wore. I laughed at his bashfulness, internally relieved that he was still the same man I had once known, though he had transformed into a handsome gentleman. His humbleness was a breath of fresh air, and a nice change, from Sherlock's usual arrogance.

"You have become more lean." I admired, scanning my eyes along his body. He chuckled nervously, a pink tinge forming on his cheeks. I also loved that it didn't take much for him to get embarrassed. I enjoyed having that effect on him, and wished that it was as easy to get the same reaction from Sherlock. It empowered me somehow, and made me feel more like a woman. Something I hadn't felt like, until now.

He waved off the compliment, before taking a sip of his drink, accidently choking, and spilling it all over his face and chest. I smiled at his clumsiness, before picking up the napkin by my empty plate. I leaned over the table and delicately dabbed at the mess, teasing him about his gracefulness. He agreed with me, before I resumed my place in my seat, setting the now stained napkin on my dinner plate.

"You sure know how to take care of a guy." He commented, his warm brown eyes shining with delight. I beamed at this statement, glad that my actions didn't go unappreciated like they normally did. I grabbed his hand affectionately and thanked him for his kind words.

"So, is there anyone special in your life?" He asked after a moment, his eyes connecting with mine and gazing at me deeply. I swallowed, my throat suddenly going dry at the intense look in his eyes.

"The name's Sherlock Holmes." A deep voice answered behind me.

I jumped in shock and spun around, my eyes widening at the familiar tone.

He stood there, wearing his usual garb of a suit and his long coat, a look of disdain plastered on his face. I smiled curtly at him, before turning back to the man at the table.

"Sherlock, this is my friend, Adam. We met in college a couple years ago. He is a saint. Helped me pass my math exams." I explained, not wanting Sherlock to think I was on a date. "We were just catching up."

"Sherlock Holmes?" Adam asked incredulously, standing on his feet, with his hand out. "I am a huge fan of your work. Me and my colleagues always hold this small hope that one day you'll pop into our office. Investigating or whatnot. But you don't really hear about many scandalous things when you're a –"

"Dentist." Sherlock cutoff. He ignored Adam's outstretched hand, and instead walked past him, his hands behind his back. I groaned, knowing what Adam was going to ask, and what Sherlock was going to do.

Adam stood there looking puzzled until that telltale question fell from his lips.

"How do you know that?"

Sherlock stopped and turned dramatically, his coat swishing around him. He smirked, letting his eyes connect with mine, before winking at my exasperated expression. I mentally prepared myself for the embarrassment that was going to ensue.

"Judging by the state of your dental hygiene, it is obvious you take meticulous care of your teeth. Almost unhealthily so. You like control and are a neat addict, your pressed pants, polished shoes, and twice ironed shirt is evidence of this, although today, you took extra care to look your best. You chose this outfit very carefully. These clothes are used to comfort and impress, but not intimidate. Clothes fit for a_ date_." Sherlock deduced in a breath, looking smug at the reaction he received from Adam.

Adam's mouth gaped open in incredulity, no doubt impressed by the legendary skill of Sherlock Holmes. I sighed deeply, my plans for a normal night destroyed, once again by the functioning sociopath. I rose then and made to apologize to Adam, when Sherlock spoke once more.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be needing my girlfriend now. If you don't mind." Sherlock said intimidatingly, placing a possessive hand on my shoulder. Adam looked at me wide-eyed at the revelation.

"You're the girlfriend of Sherlock Holmes?" Adam whispered, turning pale.

"Indeed." Sherlock answered for me. Adam became flustered then, blubbering that he had nothing but noble intentions towards me that evening. Sherlock laughed, but no humor could be heard in the noise.

"Noble you say? Your behavior indicates that you were planning on getting off with my girlfriend. I'd hardly say those actions are considered noble. Wouldn't you?" Sherlock smiled scarily, grabbing my coat from the back of my chair. Adam turned beet red at the accusation.

"Don't try to deny the fact, lest I destroy your miniscule ego even more. Now, I bid you goodnight, Dentist." Sherlock spat, putting his arm around my waist, and leading me out of the restaurant. Once in the fresh air, I spun on him.

"What is your problem?!" I yelled, livid at the detective.

"I don't have a problem." Sherlock replied calmly.

"Then what was all that about?" I questioned, putting my hands on my hips.

"My actions shouldn't surprise you by now. After all, we have been together for quite some time."

"You completely humiliated my friend in there. We were having a nice, normal time, until you utterly obliterated it." I said, throwing my hands up.

"He wanted nothing more than to ravish you, no doubt probably right there on the table. The whole time I was there, he was doing nothing but staring unabashedly at your obvious assets, with no regard to the fact that you could already be another man's prize."

I paused, letting his words sink in. He had called me his prize. The reason for his intrusion and harsh deduction made sense to me now. I smirked at Sherlock's, very human, emotion.

"You don't have to be jealous, Sherlock. I had absolutely no intention of leaving with him. I was just catching up with an old friend. As much of an infuriating man you are, I would never leave you." I assured him, leaning up to lightly peck him on the cheek.

"I'm not jealous, don't be silly." Sherlock denied, scrunching up his eyebrows. I giggled and took Sherlock's hand, leading him down the street.

"Denial is the worst kind of lying." I said, pulling his body closer to mine. Sherlock once again, tried to disprove my accusation. I rolled my eyes and scoffed, before tugging him to a stop.

"Just shut up, and kiss me." I commanded, lacing my hands in Sherlock's hair. Sherlock genuinely smiled, for once not fighting me on the display of affection.

**Disclaimer:**** I don't own Sherlock, but I do own my Oc… **

**Song; Jealous, by Nick Jonas**


	12. Chapter 12

Cater To You

I entered the living room, only to duck out of the way, when a stack of papers flew by my head.

I covered my head with my arms, expecting something heavier to go zooming above me. When nothing did, I flicked my eyes up, the sight of the cluttered living room meeting my eyes.

The area was in a complete disarray, more so than it usually was. What seemed like thousands of crumpled and discarded papers decorated the floor, along with several laptops and assorted magazines. And in the midst of the chaos, was a very frazzled and perturbed, Sherlock Holmes.

"Where is it? Where is it?" He asked in a flustered tone, as he sifted through the piles of debris.

"Where's what?" I queried, moving my arms from my head. I followed the detective's erratic movements, not certain if I wanted to intervene.

"The damned decor company's number. They got the color all wrong, the imbeciles. I specified that the tablecloths were to be champagne red, not vermillion. I didn't think it worthwhile to remember their digits, and now, it seems to have wandered off." Sherlock spouted, not ceasing in his search. I smiled fondly at the proud man, before skirting around the destruction of his devotion. The title of a magazine caught my eye, bringing forth a chuckle from my throat.

"Why are you laughing?" Sherlock asked childishly, swinging around to face me.

"Oh, Sherlock." I laughed. "Do you know what day it is?" I asked, pursing my lips in a smirk. Sherlock sighed deeply, rubbing in between his eyebrows with his fingers.

"The day I might actually off myself?" He guessed, stress evident in his voice.

I hit his arm playfully, my mouth open in shock. "No. It's your birthday silly." I answered, beaming up at the scowling man.

"No need to remind me of my impending demise." Sherlock retorted, rolling his beautiful mixed eyes.

"Stop being so dramatic." I commanded, grabbing his arm and leading him to his chair.

"Today is your day darling. Just sit down and relax." I ordered sweetly, plopping the tall man down in his seat.

"How can I relax? There's still so much more tedious work to be done." He growled, tapping his fingers on the side of the chair impatiently.

"Shh… The wedding planning can wait." I assured him, moving to the back of his seat. "Besides, you work too hard." I purred, as I began to knead his tense shoulders.

"Stop trying to distract me." Sherlock snapped, though the words were shaky. I worked my fingers into his shoulders, soothing the tight knots residing there. It wasn't long before I could feel the consulting detective go limp under me. He moaned softly at the feeling, though he tried hard to conceal his pleasure. I smiled softly, leaning down, until my lips were at his ear.

"Tonight Mr. Holmes, I'm going to treat you like a king. Whatever you desire, I'll deliver. Just tell me what to do and I'll ensure that your wishes are fulfilled." I whispered, feeling his heartbeat pound faster under my hands.

"How about a nice hot bath? Or a steamy meal for two? Or perhaps you're in the mood for something else?" I cooed seductively, running my hands down his chest. Sherlock's chest rose heavily, his eyes closed. I languidly ran my hands through his mane, biting my lip at the reaction I was getting from him.

"John's out for the evening. And Mrs. Hudson is in a deep slumber. We have the flat all to ourselves." I said, pressing my lips to his throat. I could feel his strong veins pulsing under me, the sound music to my ears.

I regretfully moved from my position, to stand in front of him, smirking in triumph at my handiwork.

"Want…." Sherlock breathed, his lids still shut.

"Want what?" I asked, leaning over his relaxed form.

His hands shot out to wrap around my waist, pulling me onto the chair, against his body. I let out a gasp, the sudden action making the air leave my lungs. I pressed my hands on the detective's shoulders, trying to balance myself.

"You." Sherlock rumbled, capturing my lips in his own. My heart rate sped up at the passion he was displaying, and before long I had to come up for air.

When he pulled back I could see his fully dilated pupils, reflected by the single lit lamp in the room. I swallowed nervously, not expecting such a strong reaction.

Sherlock didn't give me time to recover however, before he began pressing heated kisses to my exposed throat. I held on to him, feeling like I would fall if I didn't. He wrapped his arms tighter around me, preventing me from escaping, as he assaulted my skin. I could feel the room starting to spin, my mind losing all sense of balance.

My hands had unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, before there was a knock at the door.

I growled in frustration, before shoving myself off my stimulated fiancée, much to his displeasure.

"One second." I mouthed to Sherlock, laughing lightly at his not so amused, expression.

Who in God's name could be knocking at this time of night anyway? I wondered, unlatching the door. Too late I realized, that Sherlock was calling my name from his chair. I swung the door open, not expecting what came next.

A cloud of dust flew in my face, blinding me, until a strong smell reached my nostrils. My body fell to the ground, immobilized, until seconds later, when my sight went black.

**Author's Note:**** Annnd.. CLIFFHANGER! Hate me if you want… What do you think will happen next?  
**

**Song; Cater To You, By Destiny's Child P.S… I own nothing but my Oc…**


	13. Chapter 13

S.O.S

Moldy encrusted air penetrated my nostrils, jolting me out of unconsciousness. I gasped, sucking in the putrid scent around me, immediately causing me to gag at the foul sensation. I coughed violently, my chest heaving with exertion. I tried opening my eyes, only to find the world around me to remain dark. It didn't take long for my senses to kick in, alerting me to the fact that something immovable was obscuring my vision. I shook my head to the side and began twisting my body, testing the restraints binding me to an unseen object.

Chair. I thought, confirming my guess with a flick of my wrist. I sniffed the air, this time hesitantly, to see if I could match the scents around me, to the scents I had experienced in my life. I mentally thanked Sherlock for forcing me to learn hundreds of rare and odd smells, including chemicals on the periodic table. I allowed a small smile to grace my lips, before frowning, as the realization of my situation sank in.

By the tight feeling of the space around me, I concluded that the room I was bound in was small, and old, judging by the decayed odor enveloping me. Is that …leather? I wondered, inhaling the foul air once more. The smell was similar to a pair of hot pants I had worn one evening while trying to seduce the indifferent consulting detective. Expensive then. I thought, my mind swirling with locations that I could be positioned at. I strained my ears for any sound that could aid me in my search for answers and would give away the place of my capture.

Nothing. I scowled in disappointment. Seems like whoever did this, is smarter than I realized. I thought, hissing at the burn of the rope tightly digging into my wrists. "Well, at least they're efficient." I muttered, trying to undo the plethora of eccentric knots restraining my movements. What do you expect? My subconscious chided. This person obviously has a vendetta against Sherlock. Why else would they take_ you_? At the thought of my fiancée, my mouth went dry.

Where is Sherlock? I wondered despairingly, my heart rate increasing. Was he taken too? What if he's dead? A flurry of horrible scenarios flashed through my mind.

He's Sherlock Holmes. He wouldn't be subdued so easily. Besides, he always has a plan. I rationalized, worry eating at me at the prospect of my soon to be husband suffering.

A lock turning alerted me to the fact that someone was entering my prison.

I stood stock still, willing my body to relax enough as to not appear fearful. Though in all honesty, I was petrified. Sure, I had been kidnapped a number of times in my relationship with Sherlock, but he had always been taken with me. This was my first time experiencing such a thing, alone.

The hinges of the door squeaked chillingly, sending goosebumps to rise along my exposed arms. I fought the urge to swallow, not wanting to give whoever was entering, the satisfaction. It was silent for a moment, as I held my breath, waiting for the stranger to make their next move. A chuckle emanated a foot in front of me, before the entrance to my escape was shut with a resounding click.

Light footsteps made their way towards me, until I could feel the strong presence of the being standing directly in front of me. I focused on my breathing, all the while, my mind flicking through images of possible identities of my captor. My palms grew sweaty as the tension in the room grew more palpable. I drew in a deep breath slowly, after realizing I hadn't been breathing. My action was cut off though, by a sharp blow to the cheek.

My head whirled to the side, my skull swimming from the unexpected contact. Stars danced behind my eyelids, causing tears to form in the corner of my eyes. A copper taste filled my mouth, the tangy flavor making me lurch. A hand roughly grabbed my chin, forcing my blind eyes up.

"You've become a bit of a problem." A slightly muffled voice spoke. It was a voice that sounded oddly familiar to me, but I couldn't quite place it…

A tight squeeze to my face brought me out of my musings.

"Don't you go drifting off now. I need you to listen to every word I am saying." The voice crooned. "Do you understand?"

I nodded, not wanting another hit to the face. Or anywhere else for that matter.

"Good. I see that years of being with a sociopath has taught you a few things." The voice chuckled deeply, as a hand caressed my jaw. I squirmed uncomfortably, praying that Sherlock was on his way.

"Oh darling. No need to be nervous. I'm only here to send a message. Though I do regret it has to be in this manner." The voice sighed, twirling a lock of my hair. "Such beauty is not deserving of such a treatment as this."

"What do you want?" I blurted out, instantly chastising myself for the outburst. The person paused before removing their hands from my body.

"I want you to remove yourself from the detective. You have tainted his mind too much for it to be of useable function." The voice answered calmly.

Remove myself from Sherlock? I thought. The idea was almost too much to bear. For as long as I had suffered and learned to live with the complicated man, I couldn't just leave him. The notion seemed ridiculous, even more so with the reality that we were engaged and soon to be wedded.

"Don't like that idea, do you? Well, I'm sure I can persuade you, one way or another…" The person's threat drifted off, as a knock at the door interrupted his words.

"Ah, finally. I've been expecting you for a while now!" The voice shouted, making their way to the door. I heard the door open before the voice spoke again.

"Late as usual." The voice reprimanded, speaking to an unknown visitor. I couldn't hear what the other person said back, but the tone of their voice was bitter and full of antagonism. I waited a moment, trying to place the second voice, but failing to do so. Only when I heard the door click shut, did I allow myself to whimper in fear and disappointment.

"Sherlock, don't tell me now you decide to completely abandon me?" I whispered despairingly, choking back tears.

"Have you no faith in me woman?" A familiar baritone voice said. I jumped in surprise at the unexpected sound, before sagging in relief at my savior.

"Sherlock." I breathed gratefully, as recognizable fingers undid the biding covering my eyes and hands.

Beautiful orbs met my vision, the look in them, causing me to slump into his waiting arms. I fisted his coat securely, not wanting him to be just a ghost of my memories. I felt my body being lifted up, and I snuggled into the warmth of his being, his heart a rhythm of his assured existence.

"I must apologize for my late arrival dearest. I had not anticipated for the location of your captivity to be so cumbersome." Sherlock spoke remorsefully, pulling my form closer to his body. I savored his heat, the cold of the room seeping into my skin.

I lifted my head up to meet his waiting stare. I leaned up to kiss his inviting lips, glad that I still had the chance to. I pulled back to return his gaze, before speaking.

"Don't ever scare me like that again." I commanded, already knowing that eventually, he would.

"I can't promise that to you. Of course I could, but I would be lying. I don't believe you deserve that. Not anymore." He said sincerely, cupping my cheek with his hand. He pressed his lips to mine softly for a moment, before turning towards the door.

"Now, let's get you home Mrs. Holmes. I do believe a bath is in order." He rumbled, gently handling me like I was a precious artifact.

I smiled, the action reminding me that Sherlock was indeed human, and possessed a heart of gold.

**Author's Note:**** I thought that I had let you guys wait long enough for this chapter. You might be wondering though, why didn't I reveal who the kidnapper was? Well my lovely reviewers, that is for me to know and you to find out. Although, I do love a good contest. So, I have a proposition for you guys. Whoever is the first to correctly guess the identity of the captor gets to decide what I write for the next one-shot. Alright, I hope you guys enjoyed, and I can't wait to hear from you guys. Love you all, and wish you the best of luck in your guessing! **

**Song; S.O.S, by Rihanna**


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14: All I Want for Christmas is You

**A/N:**** Hello everyone! Sorry this took so long, it took ages to type this all out! This chapter is dedicated to ****Succi, ****who was the first reviewer to correctly guess the identity of the kidnapper in the last chapter! I hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and feel free to leave any suggestions or comments for the story. I love you all and hope you enjoy the holiday break!**

I rose up on my toes, trying to keep my balance, as I struggled to add the final piece to the time consuming and festive puzzle I was working on.

"There we go." I exclaimed triumphantly, standing back to admire the fruits of my labor. I put my hands on my hips, looking up in satisfaction at my accomplished goal.

Iridescent blue lights twinkled brightly against the pure white tree, reflecting off the room in an unearthly glow, stealing my breath for a moment at the sheer beauty of it.

"It's brilliant." An astonished voice gasped behind me. I smiled at the compliment, not having to turn around to know who had given it.

"Thank you, John. I'm glad it pleases you." I beamed, unable to take my eyes off of the sapling. I heard the jingling of bells, before John came into my view.

"It very much pleases me. God, it's been ages since we had a proper tree in this apartment. In fact, I can't remember any time when we've celebrated this holiday, let alone _a_ holiday." John said, shooting an accusing glare at the mute detective. I chuckled at John's not so subtle condemnatory statement and at his obvious holiday spirit.

He wore a bright red and green Christmas sweater, while on his head, a Santa hat covered his hair, the fluffy ball of it, dangling in front of his face, partially covering his left eye.

"I take it, you enjoy the season of Christmas?" I smirked, lifting the obstructing object, to flick it to its proper place.

"Just a bit." John shrugged, his hands full of presents. I raised an amused eyebrow at his copious amount of gifts, and deduced that most of them, if not all, were for his wife, who had been stationed in Peru for months on a dire medical mission.

"And are none of these for me?" I teased, leaning on the fireplace, which had yet to be lit. John knelt to stick the wrapped packages under the bulbous tree, his hat jingling a merry tune.

"Don't be silly. Of course there's one for you." John laughed, standing up and brushing his pants. He glanced over at Sherlock, before leaning in to whisper in my ear.

"Might even be one for that git over there," he said jokingly. I shook my head at John's attempt to get a reaction from the pouting man and rolled my eyes.

"Be nice." I hissed, lightly hitting John on the chest, as I made my way to the kitchen. The tantalizing aroma of ginger bread met my nostrils, alerting me that the cookies were done baking. A ding sounded then, confirming my inward thought, and with a flourish, I scooped the delicacies from their prison and placed them on a plate to cool. The smell of Christmas perfumed the air now, filling the tiny flat with a warm jubilant feeling.

"Is that _gingerbread _I smell?" John asked, rounding the corner. I nodded giddily, his high spirits being infectious.

"Yup." I answered, popping the p sound, at the end of the word. John reached for a cookie, but I quickly smacked his hand away and wagged my finger at him.

"Tsk tsk, John Watson. You can't have any until the guests have arrived." I scolded, standing in front of the baked goods.

"And why is that?" John demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. I smiled at his attempt to look threatening, and only patted him on the head.

"Because, little hobbit, you'll eat them all, before anyone else gets the chance to try one." I chuckled, seeing the look of displeasure on his features.

"I told you not to call me that." John grumbled, huffing in annoyance.

"Well you shouldn't be so short then." I teased, smirking at my height advantage due to the heels I was wearing.

"You're one to talk." John retorted, reaching over me to snag a cookie.

"Why you little-"I began, when there was a knock at the door.

The stolen cookie forgotten, I rushed to the door, excitement bubbling within me. They're finally here. I thought with joy, suppressing the urge to squeal. This would be the first time having friends and family at the flat together, other than for a case. To say I was enthusiastic was an understatement. I quickly unlocked the door and swung it open, my grin widening at the sight of all our guests crammed into the hallway. We're going to need a bigger flat. I mused, as I led them inside.

The apartment filled up quickly, idle chatter soon consuming the silence the flat held before. Soon, the noise became too much for Sherlock, who made his displeasure evident, by leaving the room in a huff, loudly slamming his bedroom door behind him. I pursed my lips at the dramatic display, but put on a smile to try and direct the company's attention elsewhere.

"Tea anyone?" I asked brightly, clapping my hands together loudly.

Once everyone had a cuppa, conversations started up again, various topics floating through my ear, as I passed by trying to make sure everyone was having a good time. And it seemed like everyone was enjoying themselves. Well, almost everyone.

I glanced at the closed bedroom door, concern itching at the back of my mind. I bit my lip in worry, debating on whether or not I should check on the troubled man.

"Are you alright dearie?" Mrs. Hudson wondered sweetly, gently placing a hand on my arm. I smiled warmly at the woman who I thought as a mother, before reassuring her everything was fine.

"I know Sherlock can be difficult at times, but he's a good man, whether he realizes or not." Mrs. Hudson said, giving my arm a squeeze.

"Just... give him time. He'll come around, and then realize what a wonderful thing he's got." She assured me with a nod. "Then you can_ really_ show him what he's been missing." She continued, winking at the end of her statement. I blushed slightly, but thanked the elderly woman, before moving to pour Molly and Greg more tea.

"It's lovely what you've done with the place." Molly complimented, gazing at the decorated room.

"Yes, lovely. I can't imagine how you convinced a certain someone to go along with it though." Greg said, shaking his head, while taking a sip of the hot beverage in his hand.

"Thank you guys. I'm quite proud of how it all turned out. And you wouldn't believe how much of a fight Sherlock put up. He was adamant on not having this party. But I won in the end. I find that happening more than usual lately." I explained a bit triumphantly.

"You don't hear me complaining." Greg chimed, taking a bite out of a gingerbread cookie.

"Now only if I can do the same for all holid-" I was cut off abruptly, by the shrill sound of a violin.

The noise pierced the air, causing the room to go silent almost instantly.

"Excuse me for a moment." I whispered, making my way to Sherlock's door. I quickly opened the door and shut it behind me quietly, though I wanted to do the opposite.

"One night Sherlock. That's all I'm asking for. For just one night, I would like to have a normal evening with loved ones. Is that so much to ask of you?" I seethed, gritting my teeth in barely contained rage. Sherlock paused in his playing and turned toward me, with an expression I'd seen before. It was a look of boredom.

"No one is stopping you from leaving. If you had wanted _normal,_ you shouldn't have moved in with me." He replied coolly.

"If I recall correctly, I didn't move in with you, you forced me to. Remember?" I hissed, crossing my arms over my chest. Sherlock regarded me for a moment before speaking once more.

"Clenched fists, elevated breathing and increased blood pressure. I'm getting the impression that you are angry with me." Sherlock said sarcastically, his voice mocking.

"You're damn right I'm angry with you. How can you just treat the people you love like that? Like they aren't worth your time?!" I exclaimed, raising my voice.

"Love is a chemical defect, and an obstacle from what really matters." Sherlock droned, rolling his eyes like a child who didn't want to listen.

"And what's that, O knowledgable one?!" I yelled, not wanting to hear his answer, but already knowing the words he was going to cut me with.

Sherlock slammed his violin down and spun around, startling me into silence.

"The work. It always has been my work, and it always will be. Why can't you understand that?" Sherlock growled, only inches from my face. I swallowed in shock and in pain, the common phrase reopening wounds I'd repeatedly tried to close up.

Sherlock looked at me for a moment, before scowling and turning away. He snatched his coat off the bed, and proceeded to slip it on.

"Where are you going?" I choked out.

"I have something important that needs to be taken care of." He answered curtly, yanking open the door. It wasn't long before I heard the sound of the front door slamming shut. Always subtle. I thought forlornly, shaking my head.

"No time to worry about him at the moment. I have a party to conduct." I said, composing my features. I took a deep measured breath, and straightened my dress, before walking back out to spend time with my family.

It was around twelve am when the all the guests started to filter out, most of them too drunk or tired to stay any longer. Mary was the only exception, since I had insisted she spend the night at the flat with John, who had missed her terribly. Needless to say, neither of them had any objections to this statement.

As the last guest exited the flat, I shut the door behind them, slumping slightly against the wood frame. I blew a strand of hair out of my face, fatigue washing over me.

"Need any help cleaning up?" John asked, sensing my weariness.

"No. You and Mary go on to bed. I'll take care of the mess." I assured him, waving off his offer.

"Are you sure?" He prodded, hesitation in his voice.

"Yes, yes. I'll be up for a while anyway. You and Mary have some catching up to do anyway." I winked; laughing at John's reddening face.

"Right then. Goodnight. And don't worry about Sherlock. He never holds a grudge for long." John smiled, patting me on the shoulder. I smiled back, before bidding him goodnight.

I then started to clean the messy apartment up, throwing all unrecyclable items into a garbage bag, until the place was as spotless as it had been before. I yawned, stretching my arms over my head and was on my way to the couch, when the door opened, a head full of curls peeking inside. I bit my tongue, not knowing how to respond.

He stepped into the flat slowly, never breaking contact, as if unsure of how stable I was. I watched his movements, suspicious of his quick return.

"Finish that 'something important'?" I asked accusingly, glaring up at him. Sherlock merely shut the door behind him, and approached me hesitantly, looking pleadingly at me. Then after what seemed like an hour, he brought his hands from behind his back, and produced a cream box, which was slightly ripped at the edges. I stared at the object, then back at Sherlock, a question on the tip of my tongue.

As if sensing my query, he set the box down and took off the lid, revealing inside a tiny mewling kitten.

I gaped at the animal, stunned that it was actually inside the apartment. Sherlock wasn't particularly fond of animals, especially cats.

I bent down and picked up the small creature, hugging it against my chest fondly. Big blue eyes looked up at me, instantly capturing my heart.

"Sherlock, where did you find it?" I blurted the first question that came to my mind.

"A local shelter. It was going to be put down if it didn't have a home by the end of the week. Thought you might enjoy a company that wouldn't speak." Sherlock declared, the edges of his mouth curling up. I opened my mouth to thank him, when he leaned down to deliver a swift peck to the cheek.

"Merry Christmas." He whispered deeply, his cool breath tickling my skin. I stood speechless for a minute, before I remembered how to breathe. I threw one arm around the detective's neck, careful not to squish the bundle in my arms.

I pressed my lips to his, only pulling back when I needed air. I gazed at him in adoration, playing with a stray curl in front of his face.

"And Merry Christmas to you, Mr. Holmes." I breathed, deciding that this was the best Christmas I'd ever had.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15: Patience

**Disclaime****r- I don't own BBC's Sherlock, or any other representation of Sherlock… unfortunately**

"I know you can do it." He paused.

"Don't try and trick me. It doesn't work." Irritated arms crossed over a puffed chest. A laugh at his annoyance, sounded from a wooden chair.

His hands were on either side of the furniture then, blocking in the offender of the amused noise. He leaned in close and blew out a puff of air.

"What do I have to do to make you give me what I want? Hmm? Bribe you in some way? Of course that's what everyone wants. But I won't beg. Not even to you. I do have a reputation to keep, mind you."

Another laugh caused him to grit his teeth. He pulled his face close to the perpetrator, looking deep into their eyes.

"Why are you being so resilient? The more you resist, the more I'll antagonize you." He sighed.

"Fine." He said stiffly, rising from his position. He walked over to the fridge, and grabbed the milk cartoon, before pouring a generous amount into a cup.

"Well then I guess somebody's not getting this." He stated with a raised eyebrow, lifting the cup to his lips.

"Sherlock, stop teasing the baby." I chatised, pushing myself off the wall.

Said baby gurgled at my interruption, seemingly pleased I had prevented her father from drinking her beverage. I snatched the bottle from Sherlock and cooed at our daughter, handing her the dairy product. I kissed her forehead affectionately, before turning to fix the detective with a disapproving look.

"I told you before Sherlock, she'll say it when she's ready."

"She's just being stubborn. Just like her mother." He muttered, scowling at the tablecloth.

I smiled at his childish behavior, and moved to wrap my arms around him.

"Just give her some time. Then she'll be saying it all the time. And sooner or later, you're gonna be tired of hearing those words."

"Not a chance." He mumbled, placing his chin on my head. I sighed at the movement, closing my eyes at the pleasant sensation. Long fingers soon circled my back, massaging out all of the stress from that day's challenges. I groaned, and buried my face into Sherlock's chest, marveling at the talent his hands possessed.

"Remind me to request massages from now on." I breathed, melting into the detective's arms. His baritone chuckle reverberated throughout my body, sending the hairs on my arms to rise.

"Perhaps we should retire to bed then." He purred seductively.

"I don't think Shirley would appreciate that." I said, pointedly glancing at the mess in the high chair. A giggle seemed to confirm my assumption.

"That's what I thought." I sighed, untangling myself from Sherlock to pick up our daughter.

"Time to get you cleaned up." I cooed, kissing her forehead.

Sherlock snorted, and from the corner of my eye I could see him cross his arms over his chest. An unhappy look became his expression.

"Aww, you're daddy's jealous because I'm giving my attention to you. Yes he is!" I baby talked to Shirley, enjoying the game. I raised an eyebrow at the other baby, gauging his reaction; daring him to do something about my abandonment. A glint of acceptance to the challenge, flickered across Sherlock's face. He pushed off from the counter and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out his phone.

"Well Shirley, it seems like you and mother will have plenty alone time together, seeing as our anniversary plans have now been temporarily delayed." He looked up at me to smirk, "It appears I have a case to solve."

My jaw dropped open at his unexpected play, and I scowled at him, not amused at the threat. Sherlock knew I had been dying (according to him, not literally) to go on vacation with him for months and the thought of the trip being cancelled, even playfully, devastated me.

"You wouldn't," I mouthed, holding Shirley close. Sherlock blinked, before opening his mouth to say something, no doubt, something sarcastic.

"Dada." An airy breath interrupted.

Shocked silence took us, and tears filled my eyes at Shirley's accomplishment.

"I told you she would say it when she's ready." I choked out, happiness flowing down my cheeks.

"Correction. You made an estimated assumption, based on the huge belief you have in our daughter's abilities…"

"Sherlock." I interrupted, giving him a pleading look. He sighed in defeat and moved to wrap an arm around my waist. His lips greeted Shirley's cheek, earning a delighted noise from her.

"I'm proud of you." He whispered, laying his head against my neck.

I smiled at the double meaning those words held, glad that the most infuriating, rude, and ego maniac sociopath, was my husband.


End file.
